


Save Me I'm Drowning

by KleverKills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Character Death, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:52:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KleverKills/pseuds/KleverKills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Fall, Castiel keeps falling further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me I'm Drowning

The first week he’s numb, too much all at once and he’s just running on survival mode. Finding his way alone in a world he’s been interacting with for four years, but never actually a part of. The relief of finding his way to the bunker is tempered by fear the men inside will turn him away. 

They take him in, reminding him he’s family with soft words and kind actions. Family isn’t something he wants to think about right now, their acceptance hurts as much as it sooths. Safe with the Winchesters the numbness fades, and the guilt and sorrow seep in like a poison. The demands of being human become a suffocating burden. He was once a being of light and power, righteous and sure of his place in his Father’s creation. He once stood with countless brothers and sister. Now he is Fallen, lost and broken, and the worse part he’s dragged down all of his brethren with him. 

Dean makes it his mission to help Castiel learn to live in this new existence, and Sam is always kind and patient with him. He’s been a burden enough and strives to hide from them how much he’s struggling. He’s caused so much pain and suffering, this should be his burden alone. 

The first time it’s an accident, he’s taken to cleaning their cache of various weapons, the mindless task is soothing. The blade he’s polishing slips in his clumsy human hands and slices cleanly across his palm, so sharp the pain doesn’t even register until the blood begins to flow. The pulsing burn in his palm is consuming, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the vibrant red pooling in his palm. The physical sensation encompasses him so completely that for a precious moment the weight of the past melts away and he’s free floating in the dark blood dripping from his hand. 

He doesn’t even hear the sound of the door opening, or Dean rushing up beside him, cursing as he digs around for a free rag to stop the bleeding. The pressure of Dean’s calloused hands gripping him too tight as he wraps up his hand pulls him back into the moment, habit finds him meeting green eyes. 

“Damn it Cas, you gotta be more careful.” Dean’s angry, a part of Cas registers this means he’s worried too. He doesn’t understand why, what he’s done to still warrant Dean’s concern. 

Dean half drags him from the room to the restroom pushing him none too gently to sit on the toilet as he sets about doctoring the wound. Dean talks to him,“you can’t be so careless Cas,” but he’s only half listening more interested in the burn of alcohol, and the throb of pain when Dean presses too hard as he applies a salve.

The wound heals, and with it the brief respite it brought fades. They find the first angel a month after the incident, the remains of his brother Inais captured by demons and tortured for answers he most likely didn't even have. Neither of the brothers know what to say to him as they stand near the funeral pyre. When they get back to the bunker, he slips away into his room.

He sits quietly on his bed, long fingers tracing the scar along his palm, his knife and gun sit where he’s dropped them on his bed. Without thought he picks up the knife and lays the cool metal along his forearm. His eyes slip shut and the the image of his brothers face twisted in his final torment burns bright for a moment before the sharp pain of his blade sliding across his forearm burns it away, leaving only a wash of red in his minds eye. The physical pain is a grounding relief from the flood of emotions he was never meant to have. He doesn’t understand how it works, except this is a pain is a blessing and a curse. In a daze he cleans up the mess, bandages the cut, before letting himself fall into a restless sleep. 

A steady collection of jagged lines form on his forearm, his thighs, even his chest, over the next few weeks. It’s easy enough to hide them in the many layers of a Winchester inspired wardrobe. There’s shame in this he instinctively knows. Dean has been watching him with a wary eye since the night they found Inais, but for the most part both the brothers give him his space and privacy. He dances along the edge of too much and a void of nothing that both threaten to consume him. 

“Cas, have you seen—” the shock of Dean’s voice startles him, the knife biting in deeper than he had intended. He watches in clinical fascination as the skin opens under it’s gleaming blade. Hands are grabbing the knife and shaking him roughly. He laughs, it’s bitter and broken, and a helpful voice from the recess of his mind tell him “this is serious Castiel.” 

“Goddamnit Cas, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“Hello Dean, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” A manic smile and Winchester snark probably isn’t the best way to deal with this situation, but it’s all the defence he has left. “It’s nothing just go away, please.” 

“This isn’t nothing Cas,” Dean growls out as he grabs a nearby t-shirt to apply to the wound. “How longs this been going on?” 

“Dean—”

“Never mind it stops now. Do you hear me?” A firm grip forces him to meet Dean’s eyes. The anger bleeds out of the other man, and only a tenderness remains. “I get it Cas, but this isn’t how you deal. You gotta talk to me man,” Dean looks down with a sigh at the t-shirt now ruined, and his own hands stained red with Cas’ blood, “come on lets go stitch this up.” 

Dean pulls him to his feet and leads him from his room down the hall. They pass Sam, but a look from his brother stops any questions the younger Winchester might have asked. 

Castiel finds himself back in the bathroom once again subject to Dean’s ministrations. It’s different, there were no other scars before for Dean to run his fingertips over so tenderly Castiel can’t stop the sobs that begin to wreck his body. Dean pulls him into a tight hug, the soft cotton of his shirt is quickly made wet with the fallen angels tears. The steady thrum of Dean’s heartbeat and the even rise and fall of his chest finally calm Castiel and the tears slow before finally coming to a stop. 

“I’m sorry.” For everything, he’s so sorry for everything. He can’t ever be sorry enough to everyone he’s dragged down with him. The words will never be enough, and suddenly he’s sure he’s going to drown in it all again. The strong arms encircling him hold tighter grounding him in the flood. 

“I know buddy,” Dean presses a kiss to his forehead before continuing on,” just talk to me when you feel like this okay? Give me a chance to help.” 

“I can’t be a burden Dean.” Cas mumbles as he goes to pull out of the hunters embrace, only to be pulled back into it. 

“You’re not,” Dean sighs again, “I suck at this Cas bear with me here alright? I love you, and maybe I should have said that a long time ago, but I’m saying it now. You’re not a burden, you’re not here because we feel obligated or whatever. I love you, so please just try to talk to me okay? Let me help you because I want to.” 

“No, you can’t Dean.” He struggles to pull away, and Dean releases him. He can’t breath, Dean can’t love him he’s broken and he’s broken everything around him. I’m—”

“What Cas? Broken? Lost? You messed up big time? I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not but so have I. Now who’s the one who doesn’t believe they deserved to be saved?” Dean’s tone is teasing but kind, he moves closer slowly like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “I’ve been all those things Cas and you believed in me, now I’m believing in you. Do you trust me?” 

“Of course.” This at least was something he didn’t even need to think about, an easy question with a simple answer. 

“Then from now on when you feel like this, like you want to do this,” Dean gestures at his arm, “come to me.” 

Their back in the same space so close they share the same air, and he wants so badly to sink back into the warmth of Dean’s arms. He doesn’t fight when Dean pulls him in down onto his lap as he sits on the edge of the tub. 

“Okay.” he doesn’t promise it’ll never happen again and Dean’s not asking that, but he’ll try and maybe it’ll be enough.


End file.
